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Linda was standing beside the old woman, and she answered for him. "It was postmarked from someplace in Newfoundland." |
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"Damn it, Roy," the old woman complained, "you still ain't told us what it is." |
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Freeman turned around, picked up a soiled towel and spread it out on the surface of the bar. Then he reached back in the sink, lifted the object out and put the hideous thing on display. |
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Linda recoiled, her hand flying involuntarily to her open mouth. |
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Gladys Ann stood her ground, staring defiantly back at the grotesque-looking thing. "Now, that's what I call ugly," she hissed. "What the hell is it?" |
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"Damn it, Gladys Ann, ain't you ever seen a brain before?" |
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Linda turned away. The greenish-blue pulpy mess was nothing more than a mound of revolting contours and convolutions. Laced through the object was a delicate network of tiny blue blood vessels. |
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"Whose brain? What kind of brain?" Gladys Ann probed. |
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Bartholomew tried to force himself forward in his chair, but the rush of blood to his own head and the accompanying surge of pain forced him back. |
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Freeman took a sharp wooden pencil out of his shirt pocket and began to poke unscientifi- |
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